That came just in time. Thank you, Stephen. Mathias
"The Other" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> schrieb: > Old age hath yet his honour and his toil; > Death closes all: but something ere the end, > Some work of noble note, may yet be done, > Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. > > The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: > The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep > Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, > 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. > Push off, and sitting well in order smite > The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds > To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths > Of all the western stars, until I die. > It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: > It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, > And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. > Though much is taken, much abides; and though > We are not now that strength which in old days > Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are; > One equal temper of heroic hearts, > Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will > To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. > > > The end of the poem, Ulysses, by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892) > It's been my favorite poem for nearly 40 years. > > The Other -- To get on or off this list see list information at http://www.cs.dartmouth.edu/~wbc/lute-admin/index.html
